|
|
TRAVEL BLOG ENTRY
|
|
By Dan
Wow. A lot of ground covered since our last report. But, today, the sum total of our activity was an hour hike and a few hours frolicking in the Dordogne River. Proof that we’re slowing down! More of that in due course. . . .
First, the Loire Valley. We spent three nights in a cottage outside the village of Fontevraud, in the Loire Valley. Fontevraud’s claim to fame is an abbey that had all sorts of activity over the past 800 years. Most notable was a head of the abbey in the early 1100s whose thing was to test his faith, and that of his fellow residents, by having men and women together in the abbey (with the predictable tensions); apparently, he also let the women drink twice as much as the men. Those who could ignore desire were the ones with the right approach to their faith. Gotta love those crazy Christians, eh?? Our cottage was very adequate, and we had the added benefit of having the owners, who live on the island of Jersey (bonus points for anybody who can locate it on a map), in residence in the big house next door. The cottage’s claim to notoriety was that Princess Diana’s man-friend James Hewitt lived in it while posted to the French army camp nearby, and hid out in it when his relationship with Diana hit the press. It is definitely out the way, so he achieved any goals of getting out of the mainstream!
We barely touched what the Loire has to offer – for several days, we drove past all sorts of signs luring us to chateaux, wineries, and museums. First main stop was Chenonceau, which has always been one of my favorites. The kids seemed to enjoy keeping track of the kings, queens, lady-friends, and other palace intrigues surrounding the chateau’s history. The high point for the kids, though, was the maze out in the garden. They must have run 20 different races, taking different routes through the hedges. Somehow, Abby seemed to have Grayson’s number, and always seemed to manage to rig the race so that she would win. (It’s still a little bit of a sore spot with Grayson, so don’t bring it up with him!) The same day, I was again indulged by the rest of my team, and we made a pilgrimage to Tours, where I spent 6 months in 1983-84. It has grown a lot, but I recognized some of the old haunts, and the building in which I lived and went to school remains largely unchanged. The old part of town is even better than it was when I was there, with great restaurants and bars in 400 year old buildings full of university students. Ah, to be 20 again!
Since Abby had been a relatively good sport through days of wars, forts, etc., we spent a morning at the National School of Horseback Riding, outside Saumur. Who knew? It’s also the home of the Cadre Noir, a team of riding experts that is quasi-military in nature. We all enjoyed the tour, and are looking forward to watching the French riding team in the next Olympics.
The highlight of our Loire Valley stay was dinner with our friend Sam. Sam is from Orinda, goes to school with our kids, and is involved in an exchange program. A French boy from Le Mans, Mario, spent 6 months in Orinda last year, and now Sam is spending 6 months with Mario. Mario’s family was delightful, and the kids got to spend time with a genuine French family. They played soccer on the neighboring play field, ate a traditional French meal called raclette, followed that with cheese and chocolate cake for dessert, and watched the French team play in the opener of the rugby world cup on TV. Most importantly, they saw how much fun they could have with kids (Mario’s two sisters) without sharing any common language. Mario’s parents were absolutely charming, as well, and so it was a very successful evening all around.
Saturday, we loaded up the car (we’re getting pretty good at it, but we do look a little like the Joad family or the Beverly Hillbillies with bags everywhere and laundry drying in the back window), and headed south towards the Dordogne. We made a hoped for stop, to admire another dead hedgehog on the side of the road, and an unexpected one, at a fascinating and moving placed called Oradour. Oradour was the site of a Nazi atrocity in WWII, when, in an effort to root out French Resistance fighters, the Nazis rounded up and executed an entire village of 600+ people. The French chose to leave the village untouched, and have built a museum outside – so, after seeing displays and a film, we wandered through a village of ruins, with rusted 1940s cars, sewing machines, and dangling tram wires. It was an incredibly powerful way of highlighting the evil that war creates.
Needing a longer pit stop, we paused in Limoge to wander around a little, have a late lunch, and let Abby admire the porcelain boxes that she collects. The real ones were out of her price range, but she sure had fun checking them out. Then, on to the Dordogne. The terrain grew increasingly hilly as we worked our way south, and, much to our pleasure, we could almost feel the temperature rising. Even more than the Loire, we felt like we were surrounded by an embarrassment of riches, as we were flooded with signs pointing to this chateau, that cave, or the other winery. There will be more to report on later, but the Dordogne is also home to many of the most famous cave paintings in the world, including Lascaux, so we’re going to be Cro-Magnon experts in a few more days.
We have rented a cottage in a tiny village called Berbiguieres, which you reach by taking more and more turns off the main drag until you feel like you couldn’t possibly be farther from anywhere. It is truly the middle of nowhere, which is much of its appeal. Our cottage is on a little gravel path below the ramparts that surround the big chateau that is perched on the hill that is the center of town. We’re living like serfs, in a cottage at the foot of the big house!
Did I mention that the path is little? Uh, really little. The information from the owner had indicated that one parked and walked a few hundred feet down the path to the cottage. But, having called in advance, we were met by the mother of the local woman who manages the cottage for its Seattle-based owners. The manager was ill and unable to walk much. Madame instructed us to follow her down the path towards the cottage. As she charged off down the path, we sort of wondered whether we were supposed to park and walk, but it was pretty clear that she intended for us to drive. The path grew more and more narrow, and there wasn’t any room for error as we squeezed between the stone ramparts on one side and other stone cottages on the other side. With the rear view mirrors folded in, we were clearing things by an inch (I’m not exaggerating) on each side. But, Madame acted like she knew what she was doing, and we were very much committed, as the prospect of reversing out of there was very unappealing. Finally, we reached an impasse just before our cottage. Despite Madame’s confidence, we just couldn’t get through. So, after unloading our stuff through the car windows, I started backing out. There was one open area that Madame was quite insistent would work for me to turn around in, so that I could at least drive out forward rather than backwards. I wasn’t so sure, and after about 30 minutes of working the 50 point turn, I could confirm that it wasn’t feasible. So, with Christina watching one corner of the car, Grayson another, Madame another, and the cute 80+ year old lady whose petunias we had almost squashed, minding the fourth corner, I made my way back out, the essence of burned out clutch permeating the air.
Once we finally got settled in – the welcoming bottle of local Bergerac red being put to medicinal use very quickly – we fell in love with the place. The cottage is funky with a capital “F”, but perfect, and you just can’t say enough about the village. There are no shops, no real roads, and you don’t feel right lifting your voice above a whisper. The stone walls are right out of postcards, especially with the flowers all around them. The church bells ring, the cows moo, the cats meow, the donkey brays, and classical music wafts through the air. Very cool.
Sunday was a total hang out day. The kids did some school work, and we spent time plotting our Dordogne plans. We went on a nice little hike through the nearby woods, passing crumbling ruins of stone houses that looked many hundreds of years old. The kids got to learn the fine art of climbing under barbed wire fences as we got creative in our pathfinding, and we made the requisite pauses in the cemetery and local church. We continue to be fascinated by the monument in every town to the town’s citizens who died in WWI and/or WWII. This tiny town lost about 10 people in WWI, which must have cut the population by about 10%. It really is tragic to consider. The latter part of the afternoon, we spent sitting by the Dordogne River, about 5 minutes’ drive from our cottage, enjoying the warm sun and frolicking in the water. We worked on our rock skipping, chased frogs, built rock mansions, watched trains cross the nearby trestles, and floated down river in the current. I think we all appreciated the chance to slow down a little. On to more good stuff tomorrow, though. . . . .
previous travel blog entry
MissErker says:
So Christina what was worse this road or the road to Malakoff???